


Quiet Love (To be Said Aloud)

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [70]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Boys In Love, Crack, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Not a Failwolf, Derek Hale is a Softie, Drunk Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski Ships It, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Stiles gets a little too drunk on his birthday. Derek knows what to do at this point.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: A Collection of One-Shots and Tumblr Prompts [70]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956889
Comments: 10
Kudos: 444





	Quiet Love (To be Said Aloud)

“I love sarcasm!” Stiles shouted at the top of his lungs, swaying on the table he’d climbed up onto. “It’s like punching people in the face, but with words!”

The people around him cheered. Eyes sweeping over the crowd, Stiles’s gaze landed on a slightly irritated looking werewolf standing near the very back and he grinned, wiggling his fingers through the air. Derek scowled even more.

Stiles had lost sight of the others at some point between shot one and shot five. He was pretty sure he’d seen Lydia and Jackson sneaking out the back of the club a few hours ago, but he had no idea where Scott or Allison had gone. 

And Derek’s betas were a whole other story.

To clarify, Stiles hadn’t expected his night to turn out like this. But, turning twenty-one, he really should have.

“Life is not a fairytale,” Stiles said, lifting his beer bottle into the air. “If you lose your shoe at midnight, you're drunk, not Cinderella!”

More cheers and rolls of laughter followed his words. Stiles felt like turning twenty-one had turned him into a wiser man. He could feel the grey hairs already, yes, but he was also wiser. Older and wiser. Like Yoda.

“Your Yoda I will be,” Stiles said under his breath. He chuckled to himself and stumbled around the table, nearly falling off face-first except a pair of hands suddenly caught him. Squawking, Stiles flailed so hard he nearly punched Derek in the face.

The man looked more murderous than usual.

“Ah, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, grinning. He wasn’t sure what had happened to his bottle, but it wasn’t in his hands anymore. No, his hands were currently holding fistfuls of Derek’s leather jacket and he was pretty sure that was the only thing keeping him upright. “Dude, I’m twenty-one! Happy birthday to me.”

“You’re drunk, Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles snorted.

“I sure am.”

“Where are the others?”

“Either making out somewhere in the dark or in another dimension of time, I’m not sure. I didn’t watch all of Doctor Who.”

“Doctor… what?”

“I would die for Matt Smith,” Stiles said. “And this is not drunk me speaking. That man has the face of a Greek god and the biggest forehead I have ever seen.”

Derek looked at a complete loss for words. Stiles blinked a few times and leaned up against the man’s side, gazing around the room. He didn’t remember when the club had gotten so crowded, but he also had no idea what time it was. Things had gotten away from him.

“Derek,” he said. “I am older and wiser now and I’ll have you know, you have the face of a Greek god too. But your forehead is very normal-sized.

“Thanks, Stiles.”

“You’re welcome. Care to buy me a drink?”

“I’m not doing anything except getting you out of here,” Derek said, glancing around the room. “The others will have to figure things out for themselves. If any of them are even still here.”

“Dude, don’t be a spoilsport! I am my own man now and officially an adult, so you can no longer boss me around. Let’s go dance!”

But Stiles only managed one step forward before the world was tilting sideways. He had no idea how he’d gotten onto a table five minutes ago, because walking now seemed pretty difficult. Thankfully, Derek, the softie wolf he was, managed to catch Stiles again. 

Stiles chuckled and turned his face into the man’s chest. “Dude, you’re my hero. My grumpy, all decked out in leather, hero.”

“Stiles, it’s time to go home. Will you let me take you home?”

“I’ll let you take me to the ends of this good green earth, Sourwolf.”

“That’s… not necessary.”

Stiles had to agree with him there. His mouth tasted a little funny, like cotton, and Stiles was starting to regret his last few drinks. Or maybe even the ones before that. God, he never should’ve been allowed free reign over how much he drank.

“Derek,” Stiles said, stomach reeling. “I no longer feel old and wise.”

Derek sighed. Stiles leaned into him and felt hands slipping underneath his legs, the ground suddenly vanishing as Derek hoisted him up. The world spun for a moment and Stiles grappled with his stomach, before going limp in Derek’s arms.

“Can we go home?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“Thanks, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, turning his face away from the bright lights. Derek’s responding growl made his chest rumble and Stiles snorted at that. Then he groaned again, another wave of nausea washing over him.

“But if you throw up on me,” Derek said. “I’m leaving you on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.”

“That’s awfully rude.”

“I figured you deserved a warning.”

Stiles huffed in amusement. “You know, Sourwolf, this is almost better than that time you carried me home after a bar fight.”

“Which I still hate you for.”

“Some people just need a high-five to the face. With a chair,” Stiles said. “It’s not my job to tell them no.”

“But it could be your job to back down when necessary.”

“Oh, come on, Derek have I ever backed down, necessary or unnecessary?” 

Derek chuckled again and Stiles smiled to himself. His eyes were half-closed by the time cold night air touched his face and Derek carried him to the Camaro, maneuvering to open the door with one hand while keeping Stiles from face-planting with the other. Sometimes, Stiles thought he was literal superman.

“My dad’s going to kill me,” Stiles said, letting Derek lower him into the passenger seat. Derek finished buckling the seatbelt and huffed.

“You’re legal now. He can’t get that mad.”

Stiles had forgotten about that. “Oh yeah,” he said, grinning. “Dude, I’m twenty-one. I can feel the grey hairs growing.”

“Don’t say that,” Derek groused. “How old does that make me?”

“Like a sexy dilf.”

Derek’s ears turned red and he closed the passenger door, face still red by the time he climbed into the driver’s seat. Stiles cackled at that; he didn’t know how Derek knew what a dilf was, but he was all for it. The man wouldn’t look over at him as he started the car.

Stiles slumped into his seat and closed his eyes as they drove. He could feel Derek looking over every few seconds and couldn’t keep the smile off his face at that. He should’ve expected the man to show up; Derek was always there.

Derek was always there and Stiles had come to love him for that.

He loved a lot of things about the Sourwolf, even if he might never say them out loud. Stiles hoped one day he would, but sometimes things take time. And if this was the dynamic they’d fallen into right now, he was fine with that.

Derek was always there when Stiles needed him. And Stiles did his best to be there when Derek needed him too.

The lights were off when they arrived, but the cruiser was in the driveway. Derek helped Stiles out of the car and lugged him toward the door. Stiles was tripping over his own feet and unable to contain his laughter by the time they got inside; and then the lights flicked on.

Both he and Derek went still. Stiles, with one arm wrapped around Derek’s neck and another holding a fistful of his jacket, and Derek, with one arm linked around Stiles’s waist. 

The Sheriff sat on the couch, raising one eyebrow at the scene. Stiles felt his face turn hot.

“This is not what it looks like.”

“So, you’re not coming home drunk at 2 am in the arms of Derek Hale?”

Stiles crossed his eyes, thinking about an answer for a second. Derek heaved a sigh and Stiles winced, looking at his dad again. “Okay, it might be what it looks like.”

“Derek, help him upstairs,” his dad said. “And then come back down. We’re going to have a quick chat.”

“Da-aad,” Stiles said, but his dad didn’t look impressed. Sighing, Stiles let Derek half carry, half help him up the stairs and into his bedroom. The werewolf looked a little pale and Stiles was starting to wonder if he wasn’t the only one feeling nauseous.

Derek lowered him onto the bed and Stiles offered his best reassuring smile.

“Don’t freak out, Sourwolf, I’m sure he’s not going to kill you.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Derek said in a mumble. “And believe it or not, saying things like that isn’t helping.”

“I mean, he does have wolfsbane bullets, but I’m sure he won’t use them on you. He’s the Sheriff after all, and then he’d have to arrest himself. And how embarrassing would that be?”

“Stiles,” Derek said, leveling him with a dark glare. “Not helping.”

Stiles resisted the urge to break down into laughter, forcing a nod. The man rolled his eyes and pushed Stiles onto the comforter, before kneeling to pull off his shoes. He eyed Stiles’s jeans for a moment and then seemed to decide that wasn’t his problem.

“Finish all of… that and get yourself in bed,” Derek said. “And no throwing up on the floor.”

“Hey, dude, it’s my floor. I can do what I want.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but started to wiggle out of his jeans. Face turning red, Derek turned away and started toward the door. He hesitated with one foot out for a second, though, and half-glanced back.

“Happy birthday, Stiles.”

Stiles paused with his pants around his ankles. With a soft, probably stupid looking smile, he nodded. “Thanks, Der.”

“Now go to sleep.”

Stiles snorted and Derek vanished out of sight. Stiles was half-inclined to sneak after him and try to hear the upcoming conversation, but he didn’t think he’d make it out of his door. And either his dad  _ or  _ Derek finding him in his underpants on the floor would be seriously embarrassing. Even more so if they both did.

So Stiles followed the grumpy werewolf’s orders and burrowed into his blankets. His head spun a little, but he felt less nauseous than before. And it was nice; being in his own room.

If Stiles thought about it, Derek hadn’t been at the club earlier at all. Stiles wasn’t sure how the man always showed up at the right time, but he wasn’t complaining. More so, he was struck by how perfect the idiot was.

Stiles loved that about him. Quietly, yes, but he loved it all the same.

And maybe one day he’d say that out loud.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the challenge; if you can write all three prompts “I love sarcasm. It's like punching people in the face, but with words.” & “Life is not a fairytale. If you lose your shoe at midnight, you're drunk.” & “Some people just need a high-five. In the face. With a chair.”
> 
> I had so much fun with this! I'd love to hear what you guys think and of course, the comments/support you leave makes my day. Come hang with me on Tumblr!
> 
> [the trashbin](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


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